


Perspective

by minnesotamemelord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Between Avengers (2012) and Thor: The Dark World, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Gay Tony Stark, Gen, Insomnia, Jarvis (Iron Man movies) is a Good Bro, M/M, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Power Bottom Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Top Steve Rogers, i haven't seen a new marvel movie since like 2016 don't @ me, in which we pretend pepper doesn't exist because that's too many complexities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:15:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnesotamemelord/pseuds/minnesotamemelord
Summary: They might not have thought all of their plans through. Specifically, destroying Steve's apartment building. Lucky for him, he knows exactly one (1) rich and single playboy who might let him crash on the couch. Or in one of his many, many guest rooms.





	Perspective

Tony had given up on trying to sweep up the debris. It wasn't worth it, and, assuming she was still alive, the cleaning lady would be by on Thursday. Besides, only one of the floors had been _totally_ destroyed. He had a bed and a TV and a bar (the three things he really needed) in his lab. So that's where he was, drinking whiskey on the old sofa in his lab, flipping through the seemingly endless footage of the Avengers saving (or destroying, depending on who you asked) New York.

"What happened to TCM?" He shouted, half expecting a response. There, of course, wasn't one. There was just dust on everything, including the glass in his hand and his hair, which he was incredibly upset about. There had been dust in his shawarma, which had basically been the best thing to happen to him in the last twenty-four hours. He was slipping back into a food coma, which meant both a coma caused by eating too much food and a nap in which you dreamed entirely about food, when JARVIS chimed loudly at him.

"Sir, it would appear you have a visitor."

"Who is it?" Tony kicked his feet up on the sofa, partially annoyed and partially intrigued.

"Captain Rogers." He groaned.

"Pull up the front door camera, Jarvis." As if out of thin air, a hologram view of the front door materialized in front of Tony. "Rogers. I thought you were going to go home and leave me alone." Steve chuckled and nodded, still wearing his shredded suit and his shield on his back.

"I was going to, and then I got back to my apartment building. It's pretty much demolished."

"That sucks. Still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"I-" Steve looked deeply resigned. "I don't know that many people. In New York. Any, actually. And I don't really have anywhere to stay." Tony's eyebrows shot up.

"And you thought of me? Cap, I'm flattered."

"Yeah, whatever. Just... can I sleep on your couch? Just until I figure something else out?" Tony considered for a moment. On one hand, Steve bugged the hell out of him, and he automatically hated anyone who liked his father. On the other hand, Steve had saved his life a half-dozen times in the last day.

"Come on, I'll let you up." A pleased smile tweaked up the corners of Steve's lips. It was, Tony supposed, endearing, if you liked that sort of thing. A few minutes later, the elevator doors slid open and Steve stepped into the building, staring up at the high ceilings in awe. "Damn, Cap, you don't look so good." Tony leaned against his desk, still nursing his drink, pretty beat up himself.

"Thanks," Steve replied sarcastically. "Got one of those for me?" Tony held out a second glass, already full. "You know, this place doesn't look so bad." Tony shrugged.

"First couple of floors survived pretty well. From here on up, it's a little iffy. Lucky for you, the elevator very narrowly missed total demolition."

"Isn't that more lucky for you?"

"Eh. I would have just taken the jet back to Malibu." Steve grinned, despite himself.

"Good to know there's no permanent brain damage."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're just as much of a douchebag as ever." Laughing, Tony shook his head and checked his watch.

"It's getting late, Rogers."

"Right. Well, just point me to the sofa-"

"You're not sleeping on the couch, Steve. I'll set you up in one of the guest rooms."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Are you kidding? That's like, the bare minimum of stuff I can do. Come on." Steve followed Tony up the stairs, past a shattered window or two. They paused at the top to stare out at the smoldering Manhattan skyline, the smoke and rubble still visible under the night sky.

"We did all that."

When Tony spoke, his voice was soft and almost vulnerable.

"Not us, Steve. Not all of it. Don't put all the blame on yourself." Steve smiled weakly.

"Sure. Whatever you say." Silently, Tony pushed open the nearest door, which led to a guest room that looked like something out of a hotel brochure.

"Get some sleep, Cap." Steve nodded.

"You too, Stark." He shut the door gently behind him, and through it, Tony heard him sigh heavily. That one sound encompassed everything he felt, and oddly, more than anything, he wanted to open the door and face Steve and say, "Hey. I get it."

But he didn't. He turned and walked back down the stairs, never once looking out at the destruction.

 

Steve woke up to a clattering below him. His breath hitched in his throat as his mind raced through every possible scenario of things that could be happening. He picked up his shield from where he had dropped it before climbing into the bed that was softer than any bed Steve had ever slept on in his life, and carefully nudged the door open. He padded down the stairs as quietly as he could, his bare feet struggling to avoid the glass shards scattered across them. The light in the kitchen was on, and the same odd crash echoed out. Still holding his shield up, Steve scanned the room around him. Nothing of any suspicion- other than everything that was already there. He rounded the corner to the kitchen, raised his shield to his face, and prepared to face...

Tony. Making pancakes. Loudly.

"What the hell, Stark?" Tony looked up, shocked as if just woken from sleepwalking.

"Oh. Rogers. I'm just making breakfast."

"At two in the morning? I was not under the impression you were an early riser."

"I'm making some changes." He said it as if it might have been a question. Steve just raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Fine. I... couldn't sleep." Steve regarded him carefully for a moment.

"Nightmares?"

"Hm?" Tony asked, pointedly not looking up from the pancakes.

"Did the nightmares wake you up?"

"Nightmares? I don't know what you're-"

"Yes, you do." Tony glared up at Steve.

"No, I don't," he replied stubbornly.

"Fine. Whatever you say. But just in case... they'll go away. It might take a little while, but they'll stop." Tony chuckled sardonically. "Is that funny for some reason?"

"It's funny because you're wrong." He paused to flip the pancakes. "They don't."

"What do you mean, 'they don't?'" I thought you weren't having nightmares."

"Fine. I lied, Rogers. I had a nightmare tonight. And the night before that. And the night before that, and so on." Steve paused.

"For how long?" Tony shrugged, still not meeting Steve's eyes.

"Since Ivan Vanko almost killed me during the Monaco Grand Prix." Steve's brows furrowed in confusion. "Right, you were frozen. To sum up, a crazy Siberian man used my father's designs to build an arc reactor, then decided to murder me by crashing my car and slicing me in half with his electric whips." He laughed a little. "When you think about it, it's a little funny. I was kidnapped and held hostage by terrorists and then almost murdered by my father's right-hand-man, and a car crash is what got me." Smoke rose from the pancakes, which were beginning to burn.

Steve dropped his shield and gently pried the spatula away from Tony, whose eyes had begun to glaze over. "And they didn't stop. So cut that crap out, Steve. You were in a war. You fought freakin' Nazis. For you, it's just another day, another trauma. But for me..." He sighed. "I'm not a soldier. You expect me to just take it on the chin and move on, but..." Now, Tony was blinking back tears. He wouldn't cry in front of Steve. He _couldn't_ cry in front of Steve. "I'm not a soldier."

"I know. And I'm sorry." Steve spoke haltingly, like he was afraid he might say the wrong thing again. He pulled the last of the pancakes off of the stovetop. "Pancake?" Tony managed a smile.

"God, yes. Thank you. For everything."

"Not a problem."

"No, I'm being serious, Rogers. You covered my ass every step of the way today. And I think sometimes we forget that you're just super strong. You're mostly normal. But today, I asked you to jump over a very perilous gap while we were hurtling through the sky at about twenty thousand feet, and you did it."

"You took out that guy who was trying to shoot me, so we're even."

"Take the damn compliment, Rogers. You're a hero. A real hero."

"No, I'm not. Coulson. He was a hero."

"Yeah. He was." They were both silent for a moment. "To Coulson." Tony held up his fork.

"To Coulson." Steve tapped his own fork against Tony's. They ate, once again silent, until Steve cleared his throat. "Hey, this might sound weird, but-"

"Shoot."

"Earlier... when you came back from the..." He gestured vaguely. "Why did you say, 'please tell me nobody kissed me?'" Tony choked on his pancakes.

"I meant CPR?" At Steve's still-confused expression, it dawned on him. "You guys didn't have CPR?"

"What the hell is that?"

"Artificial respiration technique. It's supposed to help revive people when their heart stops or when they can't breathe."

"Oh."

"Also sort of a Sleeping Beauty reference." Steve still looked confused. "Snow White?"

"Oh, I know that one."

"Yeah. True love's kiss is the only thing that can wake her?"

"Ah. Funny." Their eyes met, just briefly, and Steve could see the light blush that had crept across Tony's cheeks under his stubble.

"Not that it would be a totally horrible thing if one of you had kissed me. It certainly wouldn't have been my worst kiss ever, you know what I mean?"

"Stark, what the hell are you trying to say?"

"I'm just trying to say..." But Tony didn't say anything more. Instead, he leaned over the counter, his lips finding Steve's and his hands finding Steve's broad shoulders. Steve froze, totally stunned, then carefully removed himself from Tony's grasp. His face had gone totally red, and so, Tony suspected, had his own.

"Whoa, Tony, I-"

"That was a dumb-ass move, wasn't it? Christ, I need to get some sleep-"

"Do it again."

"...huh?"

"Kiss me again."

"Steve, I just said, that was a dumb-ass move. As in, I'm the dumb-ass."

"I don't care." Steve jumped the counter easily and his hands slid onto either side of Tony's face, tugging him upwards. Tony's hands scrambled to find purchase on the sheer cliff of muscle that was Steve's chest, but it didn't matter now. They stumbled backwards together in perfect unison, nearly pitching themselves over a table on their way to the stairs. Breaking the kiss, Tony slipped his hand into Steve's and dragged him up the stairs, two at a time. When they reached the top, his arms found their way around Steve's torso up to his shoulders and began to fidget with the collar of his shirt, as if in a question. In response, Steve yanked the shirt over his head and reached for the hem of Tony's, nearly tearing it with the force with which he pulled it off.

"Careful, that's vintage Black Sabbath."

"I don't know what that means." With shocking ease, Steve's hands slid under Tony's thighs and lifted him the last few steps to the bedroom. He dropped Tony on the bed (the very, very soft bed) and stared down at him. "Are you sure?" Tony grinned up at him.

"Two words. Hell. Yes." He twisted his fingers in Steve's belt loops and tugged him down for another kiss. And that was that.

 

Tony woke up the next morning. That might sound like there's something missing, but there wasn't. He hadn't slept in what seemed like weeks, so just the fact that he woke up after an actual night's sleep was enough. He turned over to see Steve passed out on his stomach, snoring softly. The sunlight streamed in through the window, and somehow, the destruction didn't look quite so bad. Tony flopped back down, resting his head on his hands. Life was about to get a whole lot harder, but he remembered something his mother used to tell him:

"Morning is an entirely different perspective, Tony," she had said, and he had never quite understood it until now. No matter how bad something looks, it looks different in the morning. He turned to look at himself in the mirror. Some of the bruises had faded to a gentle purple. He felt a bulky arm slide over his bare chest and Steve's clean shaven face against his back.

"Good morning," he muttered. And it was, indeed, a good morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any feedback you have! I always appreciate comments!


End file.
